


Dreaming

by Tarlan



Category: V (1983)
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1995-03-01
Updated: 1995-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-13 02:46:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyler has to baby-sit a bunch of reporters in Vietnam, but things terribly wrong when they are caught by the Viet Cong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Deutsch available: [Der Traum](https://archiveofourown.org/works/132635) by [Tarlan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan)



> First published in **Friends Will Be Friends 4** in March 1995

Anger flared for the umpteenth time as Tyler listened to the yelp coming from one of the reporters he had been ordered to baby-sit.

"Jesus Christ!", he whispered furiously, "do you want to yell any louder just in case they didn't hear you in Saigon?"

The resentment brought a flood of red across the reporter's face but this had no effect on the acid-tongued agent and, easily, Tyler stared down the hard glare. Very few people could meet those dark, cold and unrelenting eyes for long. The stumbling reporter wiped his brow with the back of a chubby hand and mouthed words of contempt as the slighter man turned away. He caught a rueful grin as it spread across the face of his fellow reporter, Michael Donovan, and whispered disdainfully.

"Thinks he's the king of the jungle."

"Out here he is, Rollo. And he's got a point. The VC aren't gonna treat you any different to any other American they come across. So..."

"If you ladies have finished the social chit chat we've still got five klicks to base. Get moving."

Tyler frowned when he didn't get the expected response from the tall War Correspondent. Instead of the predicted glare he gained only a bright grin shining through the dirt and camouflage. He sighed his misgivings and wished his boss had given this task to one of the other units. A quick nod sent Elias Taylor out to point. The tall, black mercenary moved swiftly to the head of the group and led them onward.

It took longer than he anticipated to cover the final five klicks but, eventually, Tyler stood guarding the concealed entrance to a maze a tunnels as the small group of reporters crawled into the dark interior. When all were safely inside he helped Chris Faber cover the tracks left behind by the careless bunch. The pale, blue eyes captured his and Tyler nodded his satisfaction as he finished inspecting their handiwork; no-one would ever believe they had come this way. Tyler followed the larger figure into the tunnel and closed the entrance behind him. The tunnel ceiling grew higher with every step until they could almost walk upright. Ahead of him, Tyler could hear American voices talking excitedly; obviously, they had found the rations stored just ahead. Loathing stabbed at his heart when he came around the final bend to find the fat reporter stuffing chocolate into his mouth as if he hadn't eaten for a week when it had been no more than half a day. Without a word, Tyler dropped his heavy backpack and unbuckled the straps; it was filled with items to replenish the supplies used up by the last occupants. As John 'Rollo' Rollander reached for another bar, Tyler's control on his temper snapped but before he could react Donovan grabbed the chubby reporter's shoulder.

"Hey, Rollo. Save some for the rest of us, will ya."

The large journalist grumbled but dropped the bar nonetheless, the rebuke having been robbed of its sting by the gentle voice and smiling features. Tyler watched as Donovan folded his long, athletic body into a crossed-legged position; the easy grace and strength appealing to the slightly smaller man. Tyler studied the lean, muscular frame as Donovan dragged a hand through unkempt, blonde-brown hair. The Reporter stretched to ease the tension out of stiff muscles, rocking his head from side-to-side until his eyes captured and were held by the ebony depths of the other. The tiny smile playing about Donovan's lips at finding an appreciative audience sent a tingling sensation deep into the pit of Tyler's stomach -and a flush to his cheeks when he realised the direction his errant thoughts were travelling. Tyler pursed his lips in annoyance at himself and, for the first time in years, he dropped his gaze first.

"Can we put on some coffee?"

Tyler turned his cold, angry stare on the short oriental who acted as Donovan's cameraman and then relented when he met the hope-filled eyes. This far down the tunnels the smell of coffee would be absorbed into the damp earth. None would escape into the outside world to give away their position.

********************

The group slept peacefully while Ham Tyler, Chris Faber and Elias Taylor took turns at guard duty. Tyler shivered as the cold night air robbed the final ounces of warmth from the tunnel and his flesh. A soft footfall behind him had him down on his belly, gun aimed and finger poised on the trigger but he snapped the safety lock back on as he recognised the graceful frame of Michael Donovan. Quickly, he regained his feet.

"Elias said it was okay to bring you this. Thought you might need some. It's getting chilly down here."

Gratefully, Tyler accepted the mug of hot coffee and after a couple of sips he sank to the dark earth and set the mug down by his feet. He made no attempt at small talk as Donovan sat down beside him but this had never deterred the ace reporter. Donovan was used to trying to coax information out of taciturn people.

"Michigan." Tyler frowned. "Your accent. It's northern states. Michigan or Ohio, maybe west New York. It's a Great lake accent."

"Toronto. I'm Canadian, not American."

Donovan frowned. He had got the right area for Toronto was on the shores of Lake Ontario, barely more than a hundred miles from the American border, but...

"I thought you were CIA."

Donovan bit his tongue at the inane comment. Just because Tyler had been raised in Canada didn't mean he hadn't taken American citizenship but, judging from his words, it was more likely Tyler was a mercenary hired by the Firm.

"So what's a Canadian doing in this hellhole?"

"Making a living."

"I can think of less dangerous ways..."

"Yeah, like being a War Correspondent?"

Donovan grimaced as the deep, velvety voice washed over him, seeming to reverberate along his nerve endings, sending frissons of energy dancing down his spine, even though the words were barely above a whisper.

"Touché."

Donovan studied the other man openly. His eyes tracing a path along the high cheek bones, up to the slightly arched eyebrows and then descending to where the down-turned mouth twitched slightly in one corner. Suddenly, the mouth curved into a grin and, seconds later, Donovan felt the hairs go up at the back of his neck as a hard object touched his spine.

"You're lucky I'm friendly or you'd be dead."

Faber grinned at the dark-haired man knowing Tyler had recognised his light footsteps and, therefore, had found no reason to react. It was Donovan's turn to stare as Tyler stretched slightly to ease the cramp from a long watch, his eyes studying the play of muscles across the broad chest as the combat jacket opened to reveal a dark, cotton tee shirt. He watched as his associate picked up the mug before regaining his feet. Nodding approval to his slightly younger co-worker, Tyler stepped passed the reporter, his smaller figure quickly disappearing into the darkness.

"I reckon you should get some sleep. It'll be light in 4 hours and you'll move out soon after."

Donovan gave a small sigh and headed back towards the small group of sleeping reporters. The next few days passed quickly. Tyler took them out, one group at a time, to view the surrounding area leaving Chris Faber behind to protect the others. He pointed out recent VC activity, silently praying there were none in the immediate vicinity for the fat reporter made more noise than a herd of elephant. When he wasn't yelping at some new pitfall, he was waving his arms around trying to brush away the mosquitoes and other insects. Secretly, Tyler promised he would silence the man permanently if he attracted any VC to their position. Rollander's cameraman, Willie Martin, gave a sheepish smile as he read the dark, foreboding expression. With Mike Donovan and Tony Leonetti it was different only because the two men were a good deal quieter. However, where Rollo was reserved and more than willing to stay away from any possible danger, Donovan was exuberant, wanting to stick his nose into anything they came across. Tyler remembered turning round once to find the reporter no longer behind him.

His angry search had revealed the man stalking towards the corpse of a long-dead GI. With a hiss of anger, he had launched himself across the distance in time to prevent the other from touching the body; it was a well known VC trick to booby-trap dead American soldiers.

"I just wanted the tags. His folks have a right to know the truth. MIA just leaves you moving from one day to the next waiting for the phone to ring - or a letter to drop on the mat. You start scanning the crowds in the 'Nam bulletins..."

"Okay, I get the picture. But is it really worth dying over." Tyler proved his point by gently pulling back the collar of the combat jacket to reveal the thin wire stretched taut under the collar and over the shoulder. "You grab the chain and the body moves forward as you yank off the tags - then boom. Two dead GI's. Probably wired him up before he was even dead, just in case his cries were answered by a couple of medics."

The blue-green eyes widened in horror. He'd heard of tripwires that sent sharpened bamboo into your stomach, holes in the jungle floor that dropped the unwary into six foot graves filled with vertical bamboo spears, and in the villages and towns you had to watch for grenades neatly packaged within Coke cans, but this was truly barbaric. Donovan watched as Tyler pulled out a small tool. Seconds later he had snipped through the chain and was handing the tags to Donovan.

"Consider it a present - but never do that again."

Tyler decided to make the next trip the last. No doubt Donovan would complain that he had been promised a full week but Tyler had taken enough. He dragged a hand through his thinning, dark brown hair, certain the stress from the last few days had added to the loss, and wishing he had inherited the genes of his Iroquois grandmother rather than his White ancestors. He winced and held himself still near the edge of a small clearing as the clumsy reporter fell headlong into the dense vegetation when his foot became entangled in some creeping vine. At least the man had ceased to cry out with each new incident but it was not for the first time Tyler wondered why the man had ever decided to join this expedition. Rollander's laboured breathing was audible from several metres away as he crawled forward. Tyler pressed up closer against the rough bark of one of the towering trees, feeling the fear rise like a bubble of air in water as the rustling gave away his own position.

 

The distant snap of dry vegetation caught his attention and he motioned the other three men to silence. Rollander opened his mouth to question what was going on but the serrated knife held to his throat convinced him otherwise. Elias Taylor might be more amiable but he was no less deadly than his associate. The grenade that bounced into their hideaway left no doubt they had been spotted. With the fat reporter directly behind and the cameraman to the side, Tyler found himself with nowhere left to go. The body leaping passed his own took the full impact as the grenade exploded. Blood and gore splattered his face and body but, before he could get his wits together, the sound of curt, Vietnamese commands and of weapons primed for firing claimed his attention.

********************

The beatings were standard practice. Being able to take out all their anger, aggression and resentment against defenceless American hostages seemed therapeutic to the VC soldiers. They took it in turns to single out a prisoner and then punched and kicked that man until he lost consciousness. Rollander screamed as his arm was bent back until the bone snapped, the VC taking great pleasure in beating the epitome of the decadent West, with his rolls of flesh spilling through torn clothing.

Beside him, Tyler could hear Willie Martin whimper but he made no attempt to comfort the man. It would merely serve to draw attention to them both. With most of their immediate anger vented, Tyler prayed the violence would stop. He pulled his left hand closer to his curled-up body, the foetal position affording him some defence from the many blows. It was a kick that had caught his hand, forcing it under until the wrist gave way with a snap. Tyler cried out as hands grabbed him, dragging him to his feet and forcing his arms back until his shoulder blades were almost touching. White fire leapt along his nerves as the damaged wrist was pulled and he almost fainted from the shock. Rope bit deeply into his flesh and only the cruel hands digging into his biceps kept him from crashing to his knees as his legs turned to jelly. He swayed as the hands let go and turned his head slightly to find Willie standing beside him; the battered features bore no resemblance to the gentle, angular face. The curly, blonde hair was streaked with dirt and blood, the baby blue eyes pleading for him to do something but Tyler could do nothing but look away. Rollander was forced to his feet and the small group herded off in a direction away from the tunnels.

They were force-marched for what seemed like hours. Many a time one or another of them would fall only to be struck with gun butts and dragged back to their feet. Just when they thought they could go no further, the jungle parted to reveal a small clearing with a wood and bamboo hut on stilts built against a hillside. The guards pulled the prisoners into the semi-darkness below the hut where holes had been dug into the hill to form small prison cells. The entrance to each was barred with a door made of thick stalks of bamboo cane. There were three cells in total and each prisoner was forced into separate ones.

Tyler groaned as his face hit the soft dirt. A boot in his back deterred any attack on his part as a knife sliced through the ropes binding his arms. Relief, as blood was able to circulate freely once more, was overshadowed by violent pins-and-needles and, as feeling returned to his upper limbs, so did the agony from his damaged wrist. He didn't bother to move from the place where he had been thrown but he let his mind wander back along the jungle trail to where Chris Faber protected Michael Donovan and Tony Leonetti. With luck, Chris would not be swayed into searching for them once they realised Tyler's party were overdue, his duty being to ensure the safety of the two reporters still in his charge. However, Tyler was fully aware of the silver-tongue that Donovan could engage to entice Faber to do what his heart would recommend -rather than his head.

Donovan. His thoughts began to spin as he visualised the well-muscled frame and the square features. The passed few days living in close proximity had fuelled dreams of the taller man reaching out and touching him; of hands caressing his face followed by a hungry mouth that devoured his own lips. Fingers tracing patterns of liquid fire across his stomach and lower, brushing along the dark hair that stretched from belly to groin. A delicate touch sliding across and over one hip, down his flank then round to stroke the soft skin...

Tyler shook himself mentally. This was not the time to indulge in sexual fantasies. He froze as boots strided towards him, muscles tensing in apprehension, but the Vietcong guard pulled open the door to the cell on his left. Tyler clamped his teeth together as he heard Rollander beg for mercy while being dragged from the cell and forced up the wooden stairs. Screams curdled the air as the man was interrogated and Tyler could only guess at the methods they would employ to extract information. Harsh sobbing muffled by the walls of dirt between their cells reminded him that Willie Martin was still alive. Tyler squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force his mind away from the screams above and the sobbing to the side, knowing it was only a matter of time before it would be his turn. It seemed as if a lifetime passed before the screaming stopped; the sudden silence as deafening in its own ominous way. Through the semi-darkness, Tyler could see the fat reporter half-carried, half-dragged back towards his cell. Their eyes met and Tyler read regret and sorrow in the hazel depths.

"I'm sorry, Tyler. I'm so sorry."

Tyler shrank back against the dirt wall, understanding instantly what had happened. Rollander had told them he was a CIA agent and may even have betrayed Faber's group. He heard the thump as the big man was thrown into his prison and waited, fully expecting the guards to open the door and drag him out, but they moved away without even a glance in his direction. The reason became clear when the smell of cooked rice and fish filled the air. Tyler grimaced as his stomach rumbled, his body recognising and wanting nourishment but he knew there would be nothing sent their way for pain, humiliation and hunger were part of the interrogator's toolkit. Rolling into a ball, Tyler closed his eyes and allowed the vision of dancing, blue-green eyes that promised all his heart's desires to lull him into a restless sleep.

********************

Faber grimaced and turned away when he came upon the gruesome corpse of Elias Taylor. He made a quick sweep of the area until he located the trail taken by the VC.

"Jesus." Faber turned to find Donovan and Leonetti staring at the bloodied remains. "Shouldn't we try an' bury him?"

"Sure, and when the VC come back this way and spot the nice, neat grave complete with matching headstone I reckon they'll figure someone else was around."

"I wonder what happened here."

Faber had read the signs easily. He had seen the place where Rollander had fallen, and had noted the hand and knee prints where the man had crawled forward.

"They were by this tree. Tyler was here, Rollander behind him, Willie this side and Elias brought up the rear..."

"How d'you know all that?"

Faber pointed out the hand and knee prints from the heavy body and where they stopped, then he showed Leonetti the indentation in the soft ground from the heavy camera where Willie Martin had laid it down. Next Faber pulled a strand of dark hair from the rough bark, showing where Tyler had pressed himself up against it - probably in apprehension or fear of discovery.

"But if Elias was at the back then how did he...?" Donovan indicated the remains, unable to verbalise the words.

"He must'a leapt forward between Rollander and Tyler and covered the grenade with his own body."

"Why?"

"Cos' he loved Ham Tyler."

Donovan fell silent as he remembered the way Elias would fuss over his unit leader, ensuring the man had everything he wanted - from food and hot coffee, to maps, to sufficient blankets to keep out the pre-dawn chill. It wasn't too overt but Donovan recognised a case of hero-worship when he saw it. Tyler had tolerated the attention by neither encouraging nor rejecting the younger agent, realising Elias would grow out of it once he had spent a little more time in-country and knowing any action he took would merely alienate the other man when that time came. Now, Elias would never have that time but had died so Tyler would live and suddenly, Donovan realised he did not want that sacrifice to be in vain.

"We've gotta go after them."

"No. We go back and radio for assistance."

"But what about Tyler and the others?"

"Someone else'll get them out."

"But he's your friend?"

"Yep, but I'll radio for a dust off, get you two outta here. Then I'll come back for him with support."

Part way to the landing zone Faber looked over his shoulder to check the progress of the two reporters and cursed silently when he found only Tony Leonetti behind him. At some time over the passed few minutes, Donovan had slipped away. The pale, blue eyes held the dark, oriental ones, a decision made instantly. Donovan had chosen his own path. The landing zone was barely five minutes away and he would feel better once he had got Leonetti on the Huey. They reached the LZ without incident and within half an hour the sound of a helicopter approaching brought some relief. Faber glanced back along the trail as he climbed on board, shook his head and with a tight lipped expression he gave the sign to go. He watched through the open doorway as the helicopter banked away, hoping to catch some indication of Tyler or Donovan's whereabouts.

********************

Donovan looked back as he heard the sound of rotor blades in the distance, hoping Leonetti and Faber had reached the LZ safely. As the sounds died away he was left with only the noise of the jungle. Ahead of him stretched dense vegetation as he made his way back towards the small clearing where Elias Taylor had met his grisly death. Faber had shown him the direction taken by the VC. Hopefully, he would be able to follow the trail to Tyler. Donovan crouched down when he reached the tree where Faber had found the strand of dark hair, his hand automatically touching the place where the head would have lain against the rough bark.

A memory resurfaced. Tyler arguing with him over a photo taken of the dead GI. The CIA agent had wanted the dead man to lie in peace, not paraded over the TV networks for family and friends to discover on the evening news. He could not understand the difference between Donovan's previous compassion for the man's relatives compared with this sudden shark-like disrespect for the very same people. Donovan frowned, suddenly wondering why he was alone in the middle of a dangerous jungle, looking for a man he had met only a few days previously when all they ever seemed to do was argue -and then he remembered why.

Dark eyes softened with laughter as Donovan related some of the more hilarious assignments he had been forced to cover as a young apprentice reporter. His heart skipping a beat as the tiny smile widened into a breath-taking grin. He watched the strong fingers curl around the mug, raise it to the smiling mouth to drain the last of the coffee, the eyes still shining in the lamplight. They both reached for more coffee at the same time, fingers brushing, sending fire through their veins. Donovan read the desire that burned brightly in the dark depths yet both knew this was not the time nor the place but, should they find such an occasion, neither would be unwilling to share himself with the man seated opposite. Donovan took a deep breath and let it out slowly in a ragged whisper.

"Jesus Christ. I've fallen in love with the man."

He never saw the VC soldier until it was too late. The blunt edge of the weapon struck his temple and darkness closed around him.

********************

The sound of approaching footsteps pulled Tyler from a dreamless sleep and, as he heard the door open, he thought his turn had finally come but, instead, a heavy weight landed almost on top of him before the door was re-fastened. His eyes widened in shock as he recognised his new cellmate, Michael Donovan, and he reached out to touch the unconscious body so he could convince himself it was not just a bad dream. His heart sank as his fingers encountered warm, living flesh. Some part of his mind had been hoping Donovan would be spared this ordeal and, bitterly, he wondered if Faber and Leonetti had also been brought to this hell on Earth. His final hopes of rescue faded and he bowed his head in resignation of what was to come, praying he would be taken first for he couldn't bear the thought of lying here listening to Donovan's screams.

When night fell, the jungle came alive with the sound of predators stalking the darkness for prey. They had carried Willie back to his cell a few hours previously. That fact alone informed Tyler the man was still alive, unlike poor Rollo whose corpse had been thrown down the wooden stairs and then carried away to the edge of the clearing, minus his ears, where he was left for the carrion eaters. Tyler had not expected them to take Rollander again, convinced that the fat Reporter had given away his own identity as a CIA operative. Instead, he had lain here untouched while they turned Rollander into a jungle feast - and then started on his cameraman, Willie.

Tyler shifted uneasily as a soft moan escaped from Donovan. The VC had worked him over pretty badly but, as far as he could tell, there were no breaks or fractures, just cuts and bruises. Obviously, the enemy soldiers had worked out most of their hostility on their first captives. He listened to the harsh indrawn breath as Donovan sat up in the tiny dirt hole. The reporter winced as cuts and bruises made their presence known. In the near-blackness of the dark night, Donovan reached out to touch the shadow of a figure close by his side; a hand met his, fingers entwining.

"Tyler?"

"Yeah."

"It's good to hear your voice."

"Wish I could say the same. Did they bring in Faber and Leonetti with you?"

"No. They were lifted out by Huey."

Tyler grinned, pleased that his associate had escaped, and then he frowned as a thought hit him. "Then why are you still here?"

"Don't ask."

Anger bubbled up inside as the words gave him an answer he couldn't believe - yet knowing the recklessness of this reporter, it had to be true. Donovan was here because he had disobeyed Faber and gone off searching for the others with the foolhardy notion that he could rescue them. Instead, he had become another victim. Donovan sensed the anger and forestalled the violent outburst.

"Look, Tyler. You're right to be angry but I think I've already paid for my foolishness." Tyler huffed in disbelief.

"You haven't even begun to pay the price yet. What you've suffered so far is merely the entrance fee."

Donovan swallowed audibly, knowing deep down that Tyler was right but also aware he would have come after Tyler if the price had been his very soul. However, he couldn't let Tyler know this, suddenly more afraid of rejection than of death itself.

********************

Two more days passed with a nightmare quality of being dragged from the cell, beaten, then thrown back, yet at no time were either of them interrogated, and Tyler had begun to believe Rollander had not betrayed him after all. Perhaps they were merely entertainment for the Vietcong soldiers. He grimaced at the thought of what would happen to them once their entertainment value had dropped to zero.

Tyler groaned as he was manhandled out of the bamboo and wood hut where he had been subjected to yet another beating. He let his body go loose as one of the guards released his hold and Tyler tumbled down the remaining steps to the soft earth below. The other guard swore profusely, his anger releasing words that were supposed to have been kept unsaid but, even through the pain and exhaustion, the meaning was clear. When the VC commander had learned the identity of one of his captives he contacted his superiors and was given orders to keep Tyler alive until their top interrogator, Colonel Li Chang, arrived. The constant beatings were merely to soften him up in preparation. However, if they went too far and damaged Tyler too severely then Chang would turn his sadistic talents upon his VC captors. The information sent a cold shiver along his spine for Chang's reputation for brutality and results was well known.

As an ordinary POW, Tyler was willing to bide his time and hope for rescue as the people he worked for couldn't afford to leave him in enemy hands, but this changed everything. Now it would be a race against time for he would not be able to hold out against the kind of pain Chang would inflict upon him.

The soft, dank earth met his cheek as they threw him into the cell and locked it behind him. Tyler moved to ease the discomfort of battered muscles as strong arms took him in a gentle embrace. Fingers lightly caressed his hair, pushing the sweat-streaked strands behind his ears. He sensed movement as Donovan stripped off his own torn tee shirt. The reporter used the rag to clean some of the blood and perspiration from the pain-filled face. His own features were a mess but that seemed unimportant compared to the man in his arms.

"You need a doctor."

"The way I feel, I think I need a whole hospital."

Donovan chuckled softly. "Obviously you never met the Dragon Lady of Saigon"

Tyler grinned. The woman had a tongue that could strip a man at forty paces. She was head of the nursing staff at the main American hospital in Saigon and Tyler had several run-ins with her in the past. He moaned softly as another dull ache blossomed into sharp pain.

"Sshh. It's okay. Just rest now."

Donovan caressed the damp forehead then brushed his hand lightly across the dark eyes forcing them to close. Eventually, Tyler slipped into a light, restless sleep full of childhood nightmare's mingling with adult reality.

"Tyler! Tyler, wake up!"

The body beneath his hands ceased to struggle as the dark eyes opened to fall headlong into the green-blue depths of the other where they were held captive for several long seconds, then they darted away in confusion. Tyler felt one of the rough bamboo bars of the cell door against his hot cheek and reach out to grasp another bar with his hand. The pain caused him to gasp and he dragged his hand back towards the comforting embrace of his own body.

"Where are we?"

"Same place we were two days ago, if that's any help." Donovan looked into the weary face, noting the dark circles beneath the deep, brown eyes. "Are you okay?"

Tyler frowned then realised he must have startled the other with his thrashing around. "Yeah, sure. I'm okay. Just a dream."

"Yeah? Can't have been that good judging by the sound you were making."

Tyler sighed deeply and shook his head to clear the last of the cobwebs from his tired and tortured mind. "You'd never believe what I was dreaming."

"Try me."

Tyler stared into the caring features wondering whether he could explain his dream to this man. "Just a stupid childhood nightmare... from watching too many late night science fiction shows." The cool, green-blue eyes held his in a strong gaze and Tyler felt his will dissolve. "I dreamt we were at war against alien Lizards; green skin, green blood, forked tongue, the works. They'd come to Earth for our water - and to take humans for food. We were trying to stop them."

Tyler reddened and fell silent as he heard the deep chuckle emanating from his fellow prisoner. Donovan stopped when he felt the warm body pull back away from him. He reached out and caressed the tired features.

"I'm not laughing at you. Please go on."

The silence lengthened but eventually, Donovan heard a sigh followed by the deep, melodic voice near his ear.

"We were fighting them in Los Angeles. I was planting bombs in their processing factories..."

"Human processing?"

"Yeah."

"And what about me?"

Tyler debated for a moment whether he should reveal the position his mind had given the Reporter in his dream but decided it would probably do more good than harm.

"You were one of the leaders of a resistance group. We worked together for a while."

"Us? Work together? It must have been a dream."

Tyler smiled ruefully. He and Donovan had been at loggerheads since the first day they met, neither prepared to back down even an inch - except for a few rare moments when he felt a rising tide of love and contentment in Donovan's company. The silence lengthened and Donovan sighed, knowing he was the cause. He prompted the other gently.

"You said I was one of the leaders. Who were the other leaders?"

Tyler glanced up, trying to make out the familiar features in the semi-darkness, strangely willing to recognised the lightly concealed apology.

"There was a pretty, fair-haired, blue-eyed girl. A scientist. Her name was Julie." Tyler laughed softly. "I went to high school with her but you were in love with her."

"In love with her? Why me, why not you?"

"I don't know. It was only a dream."

"So I was in love with this Julie. Did we get it on together?"

Tyler blushed. "How would I know. You got the girl."

Donovan chuckled but reached out and pulled the stocky body of his fellow prisoner close until Tyler lay with his back supported against the broad, muscular chest.

"Jesus, you're cold, Tyler. Here, lean into me. I'll warm you up a little."

They both turned their heads suddenly at the sound of harsh voices above; the Vietcong were torturing Willie Martin again. Donovan felt Tyler shiver against him and pulled the smaller man into a tighter embrace so they could share some body warmth, but he released his grip slightly as the other drew a sharp inward breath. The man held tight against his chest was black and blue from an earlier beating. A quick glance had revealed a possible cracked or fractured rib and his left wrist had been broken days before.

"Tell me more about this dream."

Tyler recognised the ploy to divert his attention from the pain and from the sounds of torture overhead, and willingly gave in to him.

"Chris Faber was my right-hand man - and Elias Taylor was there."

Donovan's head fell forward and his eyes closed briefly as he remembered the friendly soldier who had thrown his body between the smaller, dark-haired agent and the VC grenade. There hadn't been enough left to fill a body bag. A scream erupted from above followed by an ominous silence and Tyler felt Donovan tighten his arms around him.

"God, I don't wanna be afraid anymore. Why don't they just finish us off. Get it over with."

"Sshh. It's okay."

Tyler rocked back against the larger body, reaching down with his good hand to stroke one of the long, lean legs that straddled him, feeling the tremors running through the other man as their roles reversed and he became the comforter. The dirty, brown-haired head turned suddenly just as Tyler moved his own to get a better view of the handsome face, and their lips brushed. The trembling stopped, the erratic breathing held in check for a stunned second. Donovan reached up and stroked the dirt-covered cheek gently, his fingers tracing the length of the stubbled jaw before sliding down the skin of the sensitive throat. He felt Tyler swallow and brought his face closer until he could softly skim the lips with his own once more. The trembling started again, this time from Tyler but he did not pull away. Donovan reached forward and pressed his mouth against the other's, feeling no resistance but no acceptance either. Suddenly, the mouth beneath his seemed to grow softer, the lips parting as Donovan gently eased his tongue into the wet cavern, its tip gliding across strong white teeth and then probing further until it met the tentative presence of its mate. A few more moments passed before Donovan felt the other respond to the pressure. He withdrew suddenly, and smiled as he caught sight of the bewildered expression in the half-light then reaching forward once more, he pulled the slightly smaller body closer still and took the mouth in a deeper, more ferocious kiss, sucking the other's tongue into his own mouth, tasting the fear and expectation of the other man. His hands moved until they could reach beneath the combat jacket, fingers tugging at the tattered, dark green tee shirt as he pulled it free from the waistband. Soft, silky skin beneath his fingers sent flames licking along the length of his body and Donovan used his greater weight and experience to move the other man and force himself on top, being careful not to put to much pressure on the damaged rib cage. Fingers left the cool skin and reached down to unzip the pants. Tyler gasped as he felt his manhood taken in a strong yet gentle grasp, then pumped, slowly, until he could feel a tingling sensation spreading out from his groin to encompass his whole being. He was turned over onto his knees and elbows, hands pulling the pants and briefs over his hips and down his thighs. Some small, still coherent part of his brain warned him what would happen next but he didn't resist - he couldn't resist. He needed to feel alive, wanted to be held in those powerful arms.

The hands gentled and moved soothingly over the clammy skin of his back, stroking down the pale globes, kneading the smooth flesh until Donovan felt the tension drain from his companion's muscles. Tyler felt fingers, wetted with sweat and saliva, stroking over the tight ring of muscle, coaxing him to relax and he gave in to the insidious command as a firm digit pushed inside him. He sighed when the muscle relaxed against the insistent pressure, a finger stroking along the delicate inner wall. Eventually, the fingers moved away and Tyler felt the thick, blunt shaft press hard against the entrance to his body. He pushed back against it, the sudden entry taking him by surprise and he felt his muscles tighten in response.

"Sshh, it's okay. Relax. I'll try not to hurt you. Just relax."

Tyler panted softly in pain but then forced his errant breathing to slow and allowed himself to take the invader inside. He gasped but the exquisite pain faded quickly. Moments passed without movement as a voice whispered soft words of endearment and encouragement. He felt a hand reach beneath their close-packed bodies and felt his pain-softened shaft being taken again in a strong yet gentle grip. A thumb stroked across the sensitive glans sending fire through his raw nerve endings, re-igniting the flame of his own desire and he gasped anew as the hand moved firmly down the full length before climbing again to its top. The movement repeated again and again until his brain registered the similar friction of the body on top as it moved in and out but, by now the slow rocking sensation was too good to stop. The rhythm increased, the hand moving faster along the length of him, the shaft penetrating deeper into his body until he felt the build up of pressure, crying out softly as his senses overloaded and he felt the hot gush within that mirrored the flood of warm fluid jetting from his own body.

Tyler barely prevented his body collapsing as shaky knees turned to jelly and he felt the body above grow heavy against his back. Some time later, maybe only a few seconds but seeming an eternity, he felt the flaccid shaft slip from his body and he was turned over and held in a strong, yet gentle embrace. Tender kisses swept over his face, touching his eyes, his temple, his cheek, before fastening on his mouth. As their breathing slowed, Tyler felt Donovan shift.

"Let's get you straightened up and then we can lie here together."

Tyler nodded, his mind still reeling from the ease of his seduction, having always been the taker rather than the taken in past relationships. On a subliminal level he felt his body being cleaned with the remnants of Donovan's tee shirt, and he co-operated as hands urged him to raise his hips. His pants were pulled back up and fastened. Tyler tucked in his own tee shirt and then allowed himself to be taken back into the safety of the strong arms. He still didn't understand what had happened - and why - but, somehow, he knew he was safe with this man. All the enmity, all the anger and all the resentment for Michael Donovan had flooded away over the passed two days and he knew it would never return. A soft litany of comforting words accompanied the gentle hands that stroked his hair and caressed his face.

"Sleep now. And no more dreams of lizards."

"That dream was so real..."

Donovan grinned in overwhelming love for the man enfolded in his arms.

"Nah, it couldn't have been 'cos' I'll never love anyone, not even this Julie, more than I love you."

Just after dawn, the sound of boots drawing closer pulled them out of the most restful sleep either had experienced for weeks. The door to the cell flew open and the sadistic smile on the guard's face told its own story. Tyler was grabbed by the arms and dragged from the cell but Donovan held on tight, refusing to let go of the body he had claimed as his own. The other guard brought the butt of his gun down hard against Donovan's arms and shoulders, his voice yelling demands for Donovan to let go. Donovan screamed in frustration as he felt his lover's body pulled from his grasp and cried out again as the door slammed shut in his face. He pleaded with the guard to take him instead, reaching out impotently only to feel the impact of the solid gun butt against his outstretched fingers. The guards moved away, dragging the already weakened Tyler between them. Donovan watched in horror as the man was dragged out into the sunlight, seeing, for what he thought might be the last time, the strong, stocky frame that had lain beneath his in total surrender only a few short hours before. He cried out in denial as Tyler was dragged up the wooden steps and out of sight. As Tyler disappeared from view, Donovan refocussed his eyes on the Vietnamese officer who stood in the sunlight at the bottom of the stairs. The man was staring into the semi-darkness to where Donovan lay against the bamboo door frame, the smile on his face not reaching the slanted, dark eyes. With a slap of a stick against his thigh, the officer started to climb the stairs. Donovan could only watch in muted horror as the implication became clear. A lifetime passed before the first screams were heard and Donovan rolled himself into a ball, drawing his knees to his chest, his hands clamped tightly over his ears as the final interrogation began.

An eternity passed while the screams grew hoarser until they melted away into harsh sobbing. Again and again Donovan could hear the strident Vietnamese questions with sharp demands for answers. The crack of a cane against bare flesh, the splash of water as the interrogator kept his prisoner aware filtered down into the cell below. Donovan felt droplets against his back and jerked away as if it were acid rather than a mixture of water and blood.

Minutes passed like hours until an ominous silence descended broken only by the occasional whimper from the cell next door, reminding Donovan that he and Tyler were not the only ones caught up in this nightmare. Donovan opened his eyes and gazed out to where sunshine flickered between the branches of the overhead trees and into the small clearing. He strained to hear the soft voices above, praying that one of them was his lover's but the blood pooled within his heart as he recognised only the voice of the VC commander. The sound of feet descending the wooden steps brought him close to the bamboo door of his cell and a strange feeling of hope mixed with horror crept through him as Donovan saw only a single man; Li Chang. If Tyler was dead then surely they would have dragged out his body by now?

Li Chang turned his cold, calculating look towards the American Reporter, barely making out the dishevelled form within the semi-darkness beneath the hut but his quick mind formulated another method of extracting information from the obstinate CIA agent. He would torture this Michael Donovan in front of his countryman. Perhaps that would elicit the required response from Clarence Hamilton Tyler. As he turned to bark his order to one of the small groups of soldiers watching the surrounding area, a distant sound caught his attention. He frowned then his eyes opened wide as recognition hit him; it was the sound of an approaching helicopter.

As he began to yell to the soldiers the Huey Cobra gunship swept over the encampment, it's 7.62 mm minigun spitting death as it tore a path across the small clearing and into the forest beyond. Donovan could only stare in shock as the VC Interrogator pirouetted in a macabre dance as bullets riddled his body. A loud explosion filled the air as grenades were launched into the dense area surrounding the encampment. The sound of the gunship drifted away as the more familiar sound of M16s mingled with the staccato of AK-47s.

The movement of camouflaged bodies from the edge of the clearing caught his attention and he stared in confusion as they crawled towards the hut. As they came closer, Donovan could make out the zigzag of black and green paint across Caucasian faces and his smile widened into a grin before crumbling in a mixture of relief and joy, tears flooding his face as he realised the ordeal was finally over. The door to the cell was ripped open and a Western face streaked with camouflage paint dragged him out. For a moment Donovan allowed his body to be supported in the strong grip of a marine, bathing in the ecstasy of freedom but then his thoughts returned to the man who had become more important to him than life itself. He slipped from his rescuer's grasp and headed for the stairs.

For Chris Faber this mission had a single purpose - to rescue Ham Tyler. After two years in-country watching each other's back and living, sleeping, eating barely a foot away for weeks on end during covert operations, Faber had started to look upon Ham Tyler as more than just a colleague; he was a brother. Leaving him behind had been one of the toughest decisions he had ever made for there was no guarantee that Tyler would not disappear into South East Asia never to be seen or heard from again. MIA. As it was it had taken precious time to get hold of his superiors to organise a Search and Rescue. In that time Faber had feared many things; that the trail could have grown too cold, that he would find Tyler's remains in a shallow grave or worse still, that he might never find him. They had already found the remains of one of the Reporters on the edge of the clearing lying in a shallow, man-made hole that could easily accommodate three other bodies. The VC had learnt quite early on in the war that the Americans liked to collect their dead to send back States-side. Depriving them of bodies, or any proof of death, demoralised the troops. MIA: Missing in Action. Never knowing whether their comrades were dead or stuck in a five by three tiger cage being tortured day and night until they did finally die maybe years later.

Faber ran across the clearing barely taking more than a glance at the VC officer lying in a bloodied heap at the foot of the wooden stairs. He had seen two of the GIs head underneath the hut and could make out their forms as they forced open the cell doors. Faber indicated to his backup his intention to climb the stairs and had made two steps before a small movement caught his eye. He ducked back in time to avoid a shot to the chest feeling the bullet slice across his forearm instead. The answering chatter of an M16 from below brought a cry and then silence.

Faber gritted his teeth and ran up the remaining steps, kicking in the bamboo and grass door, his own weapon aimed even as his fell to the floor inside the hut, one shot instantly discharged into the body of a Vietnamese officer. The VC commander flew backwards under the force of the shot, blood exploding from the entry wound in his chest, his hand gun flying from his dead fingers.

For a moment Faber lay still, his mind rewinding the passed few seconds. The VC commander had been standing in the centre of the room, gun pointing down towards a dark shape that could have been a man. Faber shuffled forward on his elbows, passed the body of another soldier, probably the one who had shot at him on the stairs. He scanned the pathetic bundle, his eyes widening as he recognised Tyler but his mind screaming that he was too late. A soft groan brought instant relief, unfreezing Faber from the shock and horror. Faber reached over and pulled the battered man into his arms, stroking the sweat and blood soaked hair back from the pale features.

"It's OK, Bro'. I gotcha now."

There was no time to check the damage. Faber lurched to his feet with the smaller man still held in his arms and watched as the larger Huey settled in the clearing before descending the stairs, relying heavily on his Team to cover him. He found a small smile when he recognised Michael Donovan, pleased that he could account for all of the party. Faber caught the eye of the marine and with a jerk of his head gave the order to take Donovan to the Huey.

Donovan could barely hear himself think over the sound of gunfire and the helicopter. After slipping from the GI's hold he had raced to the bottom of the wooden steps intending to search for his lover only to find Tyler being carried down; the half-naked, bloodied body held tightly in the arms of Chris Faber. Donovan had no time to react. Hands grabbed him and he was dragged towards the helicopter but his eyes remained fixed on the body that, suddenly, looked so small and fragile within the gentle embrace of his large associate. The thumping of the blades as they sliced the air above him, the air whipping his hair about his face seemed part of a frantic nightmare as he felt himself lifted inside the craft and dropped next to Willie Martin. Moments later he felt as if he had been handed a gift from the gods as Tyler was thrust into his arms. He embraced the unconscious form and let his cheek nuzzle the sweat-soaked hair. When he raised his eyes they found only compassion in the pale, blue depths of Tyler's associate and Donovan relaxed. They were free and they were alive.

For Donovan, the flight back to the main base seemed to take hardly any time as all of his energy was focussed on the man held in his arms. One Medic dropped by his side and spent the remainder of the trip cataloguing the damage to Tyler having already decided that Donovan was in no great danger. Donovan pointed out the worst of the injuries that he knew about; the broken wrist, the damaged ribs. It was pointless trying to talk above the sound of helicopter.

As the Huey touched down at the base, men raced forward to take off the wounded. The Medic reached to take Tyler from Donovan's arms, his face screwing up in confusion when the Reporter gripped the wounded man more tightly. Faber moved across and placed his hand over Donovan's, his pale, blue eyes catching the fear-darkened ones, reassuring. Faber smiled as he felt the fingers beneath his release their hold and moments later Tyler was loaded onto a waiting stretcher and carried off. Faber helped the Reporter from the Huey and supported him on the walk to the Triage centre, holding Donovan back when he attempted to go to Tyler's side.

"He's in good hands. Let them do their job."

Within half an hour, Tyler and five badly wounded soldiers were lifted onto another helicopter bound for Saigon. Donovan could only watch as the Huey lifted off leaving him behind.

********************

The soft, clean linen beneath his cheek brought a frown to the battered face as Tyler floated through the layers of unconsciousness back to awareness. His first conscious feeling was of coolness despite his last memory of debilitating heat and humidity. Carefully he tried to open eyes still swollen from the beating he sustained during that final interrogation but then his mind screamed at him to make no moves, afraid this was a Russian hospital with the intention of making him well enough to face further interrogation. Meaningless words drifted around him in an American accent but he recognised the drawl as belonging to someone he could trust with his life and his sanity - Chris Faber. Tyler felt a cool, damp cloth brush across his exposed cheek, his hopes rising just as his mind fell back into the security of a deep, restful sleep.

He slipped in and out for the rest of the day, finally coming to full awareness as natural light gave way to man-made. He gazed through the slit of one swollen eye, half-expecting to find the man who haunted his dreams by his bedside but was not too disappointed to find only the large frame of Chris Faber perched uncomfortably on one of the small visitor's chairs instead.

Another two days passed with no word from Michael Donovan and Tyler was beginning to believe the love they had shared was all just part of an elaborate dream served up by a tortured mind. With Faber back out in the field Tyler had found himself spending many of his waking hours alone with the half-memory of strong arms enfolding him in a lover's embrace and of a voice crying out in despair as Tyler was dragged from those same arms.

Tyler frowned as voices drifted into his room from the corridor beyond. Was it just his overpowering need to hear that well-remembered voice or was the object of his desires outside? His hopes rose as the voice grew closer and, moments later, the door pushed open to reveal Michael Donovan. Tyler watched in barely concealed amusement as the Reporter charmed Sister Muldoon into allowing him access to her patient, amazed when the Dragon Lady relented by giving Donovan five minutes.

Donovan waited until the Sister had closed the door behind her before taking a seat beside the injured man. The silence stretched uncomfortably as each wondered whether the other remembered that one moment of passion they had spent in each other's arms - and if they did, then whether it held any true meaning now they were free. It was Donovan who broke the silence, his words spoken in a emotionless tone.

"They're flying you outta here."

"Yeah, to the States."

The ebony eyes grew even darker with the pain of loss, but the lips tightened into a thin line of resolve. If he had learnt one thing from his capture and torture it was that it was unwise to leave things unsaid in the hope of finding a better occasion to express those thoughts, for, in this war, that time might never come.

"I guess we both knew it had to end this way, but I want you to know I have no regrets for what happened. Perhaps when you're finished playing War Correspondent over here, you'll look me up."

Donovan nodded, a tiny, self-satisfied smile playing about his sensitive mouth.

"I've already quit. I'm your escort home." Donovan chuckled at the disbelieving expression. "Did you think I'd let you go now I've found you?"

The smile that lit up the dark features dazzled the ex-reporter and Tyler gripped the hands that reached out to him tightly within his own.

"Time's up, Mr Donovan."

Both men turned to where the petite Sister stood gazing at them with a hard, unrelenting stare. Moments later, with a teasing light dancing in bright eyes, they turned to each other and smiled.

"Queen Lizard."

Diana frowned but then shook her dark, curly-haired head, her sapphire blue eyes lifting heavenward in exasperation, before she left the two men alone to share whatever had pulled them through the ordeal of the passed week.

THE END


End file.
